Children Shouldn't Play with Sharp Things
by Kyriebess
Summary: Sam's 11 Dean's 15. Sam decides to play with one of his brother's things. He was told not to touch it for a reason. Sammy angst. Twoshot. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

_This story has ABSOLUTELY nothing to do with my other story, The First Hunt. Especially since in this story Sam's 11 and hasn't been on a hunt yet and in the other story Sam's first hunt occurred at age 8. This is a fictional world with no relevant age-related canon yet, so I take the liberty to do as I please. :-)_

_Anyway…in this story as mentioned above, Sam's 11 and Dean's 15 (and beginning to go on hunts with his father)._

_This is the first time I'm posting a story without having it finished first, so I make no guarantee on the updates, but I'll do my best to be as fast as possible. I'm planning this to be a two-shot._

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**Children Shouldn't Play with Sharp Things**

Sam kneeled on the couch looking over it's back and out the window. The window faced out onto the porch of their rented attached home. A pair of semi-transparent curtains hung over the window and Sam tilted his head so that he was looking through the slit between the two curtains. In this way he had a perfect view of his brother and Miranda, Dean's 'study partner', as they sat cuddled together on the porch swing. Sam stifled a laugh as he watched his brother move in to kiss the girl while she turned away, leaving Dean with a mouth full of hair. From Sam's point of view, it seemed that the girl actually expected to study. Sam didn't need to guess what Dean expected.

Sam watched as Dean, undaunted by the hair, continued his attempted seduction. Dean began stroking the hair as the girl read from their chemistry book. She had read about half a paragraph before she grabbed Dean's wrist, giving him a tight smile, and said, "Could you stop? It's a little distracting." Miranda returned to the book leaving Dean sitting with his hand still hanging in the air from where she grabbed it. The look on his brother's face broke Sam's barriers and he laughed out loud.

Immediately Dean's eyes darted to the window and Sam's hands covered his mouth. Fearing that he'd been spotted, Sam became completely still, hoping that if he didn't move, his brother wouldn't see him. However, the curtains weren't opaque and Dean apparently, could see his brother just fine- with or without Sam moving. Dean's eyes narrowed and Sam knew he'd been found out.

His only chance now was to get to his room before Dean could catch him. Quickly, Sam jumped off the couch and began running towards the stairs. As he ran, he heard the front door open and within a few seconds, Sam felt Dean's hand on his shoulder twisting him around. Sam looked up at his brother with trepidation.

Dean glared down at him, "Does the word privacy mean anything to you?"

Sam raised his eyebrows as he contemplated a smart answer to that question. However, Dean cut him off before he could make a response, "You know, it's bad enough that I'm stuck here because of you. The least you could do is buzz off."

Sam twisted out of his brother's grasp, whining, "But I'm bored."

Dean continued his glare, "Well find something to do…something that doesn't involve spying on me like a little pervert."

"What's a pervert?"

Dean shook his head, "Nevermind. Point is Sammy, that I would like to be in the park right now, but I can't because I have to stay here. And because that's your fault, you're going to leave me and Miranda alone and find a way to entertain yourself."

Sam sighed, "Couldn't I hang out with the two of you? I don't have any friends here yet and it's not like you or dad will let me go out and play with the kids on the block."

Dean looked appalled, "Sammy. I'm fifteen." He pointed to the door, "That girl out there…she's sixteen. We don't hang out with ten year olds."

Sam was offended, "I'm eleven."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Same thing."

Sam looked sad, "You used to play with me."

"That was years ago Sammy."

Sam shook his head, "Uh-uh. Last time we moved you played with me like everyday. Remember? You taught me how to shoot darts…I know! You could teach me how to kill stuff or something! Like dad taught you."

Dean turned and walked back towards the door, "I don't play with ten year olds Sammy." Then he turned back around and pointed at his brother, "I mean it man. I better not catch you spying on us again. I'm serious Sammy."

"You could bring me with you to the park. You said you wanted to go. You could bring me and you can go."

Dean turned back to walk out the door, "Leave us alone Sammy." And with that Dean shut the door behind him.

Sam stared at the closed door, sad and bored. It was true that over the past few years Dean had been playing with Sam less and less, but whenever they moved to a new town, that would change. Dean and Sam would play together for a few weeks in a new town, until they both had new friends. But this time it was different. They had only been in town for two weeks, but Dean had made friends quickly this time, leaving Sam without a playmate.

Sam sighed and slowly moped his way up the stairs. Actually, he hadn't spent much time with Dean at all lately and in truth, he really missed hanging out with his brother. Not only did Dean seem to know everything about everything, but Sam never had as much fun hanging out with anyone as he did hanging out with Dean. However, Dean's time was limited now. Six months ago- on Dean's fifteenth birthday, their father brought Dean on his first hunt. Sam of course, stayed with a family friend and got to hear a limited recount of 'the most exciting day of Dean's life' the morning after. Since that day, Dean had been on four more hunts, which left considerably less time for Sam to spend time with his brother.

Sam leaned against the wall at the top of the stairs wondering what he could do. He wished _he_ could hunt, then he'd have more time to spend with his father and brother. But, his dad had deemed him too young; so Sam would have to wait about four more years before he could join them. Four years was a long time.

Sam tried to picture what his first hunt would be like. He wondered if it would be like Dean's. Dean had fought a will o' wisp on his first hunt and although he hadn't heard any of the details regarding how Dean had actually killed it, Sam figured it must have been very exciting.

Getting lost in his imagination, Sam began to pretend that he was tracking his own will o' wisp through the forest. He crept on his tiptoes, down the hallway, pausing dramatically at every open door before looking in the room. The walls between the doors were large trees of course, and Sam had to be careful that the will o' wisp wasn't hiding between the trees, waiting for Sam to pass by.

Finally, Sam came to the last door in the hallway. Putting his right hand around the door jam, Sam carefully pulled himself around the doorframe and into the room. It was his brother's room and he wasn't supposed to be in it. Dean would kill him for looking in it, much less standing in it. But his prey had gone this way and a good hunter always followed the trail- wherever it led…even if it meant entering his brother's forbidden room.

Cautiously, Sam walked to the center of the room, looking for his imaginary will o' wisp. Standing in the middle of the room, Sam made a face. His brother's room smelled...bad. He looked around. What was that? There were clothes strewn about the floor and a pile of books on the bed. From their spines, Sam quickly determined that none of them had been opened. Still, as messy as they were, the books and the clothes were not the source of the smell.

Sam made a face again. How could his brother sleep in here with that smell? Sam sniffed around the room trying to figure out where the stench was emanating from. He sniffed all over the room, but the odor seemed to be strongest by the bottom of the bed. Grabbing a flashlight off his brother's nightstand, Sam laid on the floor to look under the bed. The stench was so strong down there that he held his breath. Then he turned on the flashlight.

Hundreds of short webs covered the space between the bed and the carpet. Sam found himself amazed by the amount and apparent vastness of the webs. He imagined that if he were only an inch tall, those webs would be like a forest to him. That would be kind of cool. Sam's imagination began to take him through the web forest, but upon an intake of breath, he remembered why he was looking under the bed. It didn't take long for him to find the answer to the smell.

Lying almost in front of him was a bowl with a spoon sticking out of it. Carefully, Sam pulled the bowl out. He covered his nose and mouth with his hand as he looked in it. Clearly it had once been cereal, but all that remained now was a bowl of soured, curdled, milk with brown fuzzy mold growing on the spoon and around the edge of the bowl. Sam made a face through his hand and pushed the bowl back under the bed. That was just gross.

Standing back up, Sam shut off the flashlight and returned it to the nightstand. Then he paused. Laying on the nightstand was his brother's new dagger. His father had bought it for him two weeks ago to celebrate 'a hunt well done'. It was sheathed in brown leather and had a white, carved marble handle. Sam's fingers twitched towards the object.

He had never seen the blade, but based on the sheath, it looked like it would be about 5 inches (12.5 cm) long and 2 inches (5 cm) wide. Sam's fingers lightly grazed the handle. He shouldn't touch it. Dean would kill him. His father would kill him. And then Dean would kill him again. Still, it would only be a few years before he would have a dagger of his own and he would have to know how to wield one eventually. Besides, he could put the dagger back where he found it and Dean would never know. Just like Dean would never know that Sam had been in his room.

Having talked himself into it, Sam picked up the dagger and pulled off its sheath. He placed the leather holder back on the nightstand and then stared at the knife in his hand. It was so cool. Sam smiled. The knife was 2 inches thick at the base and then one side gradually curved into a point.

Sam held the knife in his right hand and practiced stabbing an invisible beast. As he lunged forward and back with the knife, a movement to his left caught his eye. At first Sam stood completely still fearing that he'd been caught. But upon turning his head to the left, he found that the movement that he had seen was merely himself being reflected in Dean's full-length mirror.

Sam smiled again. There was a mirror, which meant he didn't have to fight the air; he could fight himself. Sam approached the mirror with caution. In his imagination, his reflection was an evil shape shifter and it was up to Sam to take him down. Sam flipped the knife in his hand so that the top of the handle was by his thumb and the blade stuck out the bottom of his hand. That was the way he had seen his father hold a knife once, so that was probably the way he was supposed to hold it.

Sam squinted his eyes and spoke to the mirror, "You've been going around pretending to be me long enough. You think you're so tough. Well, I'm a professional hunter and you, my friend, picked the wrong person to copy. You're goin' down!"

Then Sam lunged forward, punching and kicking at the mirror. Just as he fought, the shape shifter fought back, matching him move for move. "Ha! You think you can outsmart me? You think you know what moves I'm going to make? Take this!" Sam turned around unleashing a makeshift roundhouse kick while punching with the knife. The shape shifter followed in suit. Turned back towards the mirror, Sam glared again. Then he punched and kicked, swiping the mirror with the knife. Still the shape shifter stood.

Sam backed up from the mirror and thought of what other moves he could use to attack his opponent. His roundhouse had been the coolest thing he'd done so far, so he decided to try another. Once again, Sam stuck his foot out in the kick as he twirled around on the other foot. However, this time, one of Dean's dirty shirts became tangled around Sam's foot, throwing him off balance. Before he knew what was happening, Sam found his foot pulled out from under him sending him falling onto his right side.

Sam yelped as he fell and then felt a sharp pain in his right side. Instantly it became hard to breath. His right arm and hand was trapped beneath him; stuck between his weight and the shirt that had caused his downfall. Knowing that he had to get up, Sam, still holding the dagger, twisted his hand around to help him push himself up. As he twisted his hand, Sam realized that he had made a mistake. The sharp pain he had felt had apparently been the knife cutting into his right side…and it was still embedded. When Sam twisted his hand, he inadvertently drove the knife in deeper before cutting it out of his back.

Sam gasped and drove his face into his brother's clothes to stifle his scream. He was now on his knees, doubled over. His left hand covered his right side and Sam could feel the blood. Sam waited in that position as the burning pain subsided leaving a dull ache. Then, he slowly sat up and looked down. His left hand and shirt were covered in blood, along with his brother's dagger. Dean was going to kill him. There would be no way to get away with it now.

Almost as soon as that thought popped into his head, it was followed by another. Somehow, none of the blood had yet reached the floor. In fact, all of the blood was still on him and the knife. Sam thought quickly, perhaps there was still a way to cover this up. Ignoring the pain, Sam grabbed his side harder to help stem the blood flow and then rapidly ran out of Dean's room and into the bathroom across the hall. Before shutting the door, Sam looked out to make sure none of the blood had dripped in the hallway. It hadn't.

Sam closed the door and jumped in the bathtub, this way, if any of the blood dripped, it could easily be cleaned up. Sam turned on the water, making it warm. First thing was first. He had to clean off the dagger before his brother found out. Sam let go of his side and used both of his hands and the bar of soap to clean the dagger. Most of the blood washed right off, but some seemed to be stuck between where the blade met the hilt. Sam used his fingernails to scratch the blood out. After a few minutes, the dagger was clean. Sam sighed in relief. Finding a clean, dry area of his shirt, Sam wiped the water off the knife and then placed the now clean weapon on the toilet lid. Then Sam looked down.

The water, still flowing, was red. In fact most of the right side of his shirt and jeans were red. Both of his socks were red and if he had been wearing shoes, Sam was pretty sure that they would also have been red. Carefully, Sam lifted his shirt to examine the cut.

It was hard to see it, given his angle and the blood that seemed to constantly seep from it. Using his left hand, Sam felt around the wound. It started towards the front of his body and then wrapped around his side to his back. Overall the cut felt to be about three inches long. Taking a breath as deep as he could, Sam used his left pointer finger to feel how deep it was.

Sam felt his heart rate speed up as he felt inside the wound. First, was the realization that there was an 'inside' to the wound. Second, Sam was almost positive that he could feel his last rib through the gash. Feeling around more, Sam felt mostly blood and some smooth things which he hoped weren't, but most likely were, his intestines.

Sam pulled the finger out of his side, grimacing in pain. This was bad. He looked over at the knife trying to determine if he really needed to tell Dean what had happened. Dean was going to kill him. He bit his lip and laid back in the tub. The gash didn't hurt as much as he would have thought. Sam wondered if that was because he was a Winchester. His father always said that Winchester men were built tough. And actually, Sam felt fairly relaxed. He closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against the tub, trying to determine what he should do.

He thought back to the gash. From what he felt, he probably hadn't damaged any of his organs, just skin and muscle. If he could stitch and bandage the gash himself, then it could still be possible for his to get away with it. Opening his eyes, Sam set to work. The first thing he really had to do was return the knife before Dean saw it missing. Sam shut off the water and stripped off his bloody socks, shirt, and pants so that he could travel into Dean's room without leaving a trail. Then Sam wiped the blood off his right hand and squeezed his wound as hard as possible with the left. It hurt, horribly, but Sam knew that squeezing the wound would make it bleed less and therefore make him less likely to drip blood. Now clad in nothing but a white undershirt and underwear, Sam picked up the dagger and stood up.

The world tilted and Sam almost dropped the dagger as he grabbed onto the wall for support. Figuring he stood up too fast, Sam shook his head to clear it. The head shake seemed to work and Sam quickly ran out of the bathroom and into his brother's room. It was difficult trying to re-sheathe the dagger with one hand, but he did it. Then he placed the dagger back on the nightstand, checked the area for blood (he was clear) and then ran back into the bathroom.

By the time Sam re-entered the bathroom, he was exhausted with relief. He released his agonizing hold on his side and slowly sat himself on the floor, breathing hard. He couldn't believe it. He had managed to cover up all the evidence that he had ever been in Dean's room or touched Dean's dagger. Sam closed his eyes, still breathing heavily, and leaned up against the wall. He really was tired. Apparently fighting shape shifters, real or imagined, was hard work. No wonder Dean and their father slept so much after they returned from a hunt.

Sam opened his eyes. He could use a nap himself, but he needed to stitch the gash and clean up the bathroom first. Sam looked back down at the wound. His underwear and undershirt were now covered in blood along with a small area of the bathroom floor. He was bleeding a lot…too much. Sam squeezed the wound with his left hand again. There was no getting around this- he needed Dean's help.

Sam bit his lip in apprehension. He had been so close to getting away with it, but now…once again Dean was going to kill him. A sudden thought struck Sam. He had cleaned up the evidence that he had been in Dean's room. If he could come up with another way for him to have gotten hurt, one that didn't involve him playing with things that weren't his, then he wouldn't be in trouble. Sam racked his brain trying to think of an idea. He could say that it happened while he was making dinner, but why would he be making dinner? Also, Sam was pretty sure there was no food in the house that would require using a knife for preparation. The only food they had was Mac and Cheese and Spaghetti-Os. Sam looked around the bathroom, but there was nothing there that would have caused his injury.

Sam laid his head back against the wall again. It would be easier to think of a good story if he weren't tired. He rubbed his eyes with his right hand. How did his father do it? His dad was able to come up with stories that made sense at the drop of a hat- so could Dean. Apparently, Sam hadn't inherited that particular trait. Sam sighed. If he couldn't think of a story, then he would just have to avoid answering any questions about what happened. Then, after he slept, he'd be able to think better and then he could explain what happened.

Happy with the new plan, Sam pushed himself to his feet. The room spun around him and once again Sam found himself grabbing onto the wall for support. Once the room became still, Sam stumbled his way into the hall. Blood dripped through his fingers, staining the carpet- at least there was no blood in Dean's room. He leaned against the wall for support, smearing a trail of blood as he walked towards the stairs. Voices drifted their way up the stairs and Sam realized that Dean and the girl were back inside the house. That would make things easier.

"Dean!" Sam yelled down the stairs and waited for a response. The voices became quiet, but there seemed to be no movement coming his way.

Sam tried again, "Dean! I need help!" The voices resumed, but once again there was no movement towards the stairs. Sam sighed. He was going to have to go down the stairs. The only problem was that Miranda was down there and right now Sam was clad only in blood soaked underwear. Staggering back to the bathroom, Sam wrapped a towel around his waist and then made his way back to the stairs.

One by one, Sam slowly made his way down the stairs leaving a trail of blood along the floor and banister. Finally, he was at the bottom. Dean and Miranda were seated on the couch in front of him, facing the opposite wall.

"Dean?" Dean sighed in annoyance, but didn't turn around.

Sam's heart began to beat faster. Dean was already angry with him for interrupting the study session. Dean was going to kill him when he saw the mess he made in the bathroom, hallway, and stairs. Still, there was too much of a mess to clean up now and he still needed Dean's help with the stitches. He had to interrupt his brother.

Slowly Sam stumbled around the couch, stopping in front of the chatting couple. "Dean? I need help."

Dean glared into his book obviously ignoring Sam, but the girl looked up. Immediately her eyes became wide and she covered her mouth with her hands. "Oh my God! Dean!" She shook Dean causing him to lift his head towards Sam.

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_What do you think? Should I have Sam crack and tell Dean the truth- or should he lie?_


	2. Chapter 2

_Ok- Here's the rest. I debated about leaving the John part in. I'm not sure if it takes away from the story. It's a bit off character in my opinion, but I'm going to rationalize that by saying that we're seeing things from Sam's point of view only and there's probably a lot that went on between Dean and John that we're not seeing here. In anycase, if the John section dulls the story for you- feel free to ignore it._

_ As for the votes...I tallied them up here and on the other site that I posted. Here are the results:_

_Lie: 11_

_Tell the truth: 13_

_Lie and then tell the truth/Dean figures it out: 7_

_Don't know: 14_

_ So, clearly, don't know was the winner. However, as that didn't help- we'll be looking to second place._

_ Btw, it was really cool to see everyone's ideas and opinions. Especially since it was such a close vote. Thank you all so much for your reviews. I would reply individually but the site is being, well, it's a K rated fic so I can't say. But thank you all- seriously._

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**Children Shouldn't Play with Sharp Things: Part 2**_  
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No sooner did Sam see Dean's head lift up then his brother was at his side. Sam wondered how it was possible for Dean to move that fast. Dean looked panicked as he grabbed Sam's shoulders, "What was it Sammy?" Then he looked around wildly, "Is it still upstairs?"

Sam blinked confused. Was what still upstairs? What was Dean talking about? "Huh?"

Ignoring Sam's confusion, Dean began looking over his brother's body for the source of the blood. Sam watched as Dean knelt in front of him and pried Sam's hand off of his wound. Sam hissed in pain as his brother examined the gash.

"God Sammy." Dean looked up at him, "What did this to you?"

Sam tensed. This was the moment he had spent all afternoon dreading. 'Don't answer, don't answer, don't answer'…the mantra played through his mind. He had prepared for this. He just had to say, 'I don't want to talk about it'. Dean would drop the subject temporarily and by the time he got back to it, Sam would have an explanation. All he had to say was, 'I don't want to talk about it'…

"I went into your room." What? If Sam were having an out of body experience, he would have stared at his mouth in shock and betrayal. Where the hell did that come from? All that planning, running back and forth, cleaning the dagger, making sure no blood dripped onto the floor, coming up with a plan…and it was all made a waste of time in one sentence.

Sam realized that Dean was still staring at him, waiting for an explanation. "I was pretending to track a will o' wisp and it went into your room." There was no point in lying now. He'd already given himself away. Internally, Sam kicked himself. He didn't even make it to an _attempt_ at lying. And now Dean was going to kill him.

Sam put on his best remorseful face as he continued, "I know I'm not supposed to be in there…"

"How'd you get hurt Sammy?"

Sam was surprised, Dean sounded concerned; not at all angry- but Dean hadn't heard about the dagger yet. Sam lowered his head in shame before speaking again, "I was pretending to fight a shape shifter and I was playing with your new dagger." Sam looked up to see his brother's reaction.

Dean was pissed. It was obvious. He hadn't said anything yet, but his eyes were wide, teeth were clenched, body was rigid, and nostrils were flaring. Sam was dead where he stood. Finally Dean spoke, "Let me get this straight. You went into my room, where you're not allowed to be and picked up my dagger, which you're not allowed to touch, and then you 'played' with it."

Sam nodded, head back down in shame. Dean stepped back and began to yell, "It's not a toy Sam! After living your whole life in this family you don't know that? A dagger's a weapon. You don't _play_ with it!"

Tears threatened to fall, but Sam held them in check. Dean's yelling would be nothing compared to what their father would do to Sam when he found out. Once again Sam kicked himself for not being able to lie to Dean.

"Is he ok? It looks like he's bleeding a lot. Should we call 911?" It was the girl's voice and Sam was grateful for her interruption, but he didn't want to involve a hospital.

"I'm ok. I think I just need stitches." He looked at Dean, silently trying to tell Dean that he didn't need a hospital for the stitches, Dean could do it.

Dean sighed and walked back over to Sam. From his brother's body language, Sam could tell that he was still mad. Once again, Dean bent down to check his brother's wound. "I can't really see how deep it is Sammy, but there's a lot of blood on your shirt." Then Dean stood up confused, "Wait. Where are your clothes?"

"In the bathtub, they were wet and I didn't want to get blood all over the carpet."

Dean seemed to be processing that comment as he stared at Sam. "Was there a lot of blood on your clothes?"

Sam thought back. There had probably been more water than blood, but given the way the two had mixed together, it was hard to tell. He looked back at Dean, "I don't think so."

Dean nodded. "Ok. Miranda, can you drive us to the doctor's? It's only a few blocks down."

Miranda appeared a bit intimidated by the whole situation, but nodded.

Sam swayed on his feet once again remembering how tired he was. Not wanting to get blood on the couch, Sam slowly sat down on the floor. It felt good to sit down. Sam rubbed his eyes and wondered how much blood would get on the carpet if he laid down. "Dean, I don't want to go to the doctor's. Dad'll find out. He'll be mad. Can't you stitch me?"

Dean looked down at Sam, a mixture of anger and worry etched into his face, "Damn straight dad'll be pissed. You're not supposed to touch my stuff and you're sure as hell not supposed to play with a dagger Sammy. And no I can't stitch you, all that stuff's with dad."

Sam flinched, "You're really mad." It was a statement that was meant to elicit an answer and Dean provided it.

"Are you kidding me?" Then Dean paused, "Why are you sitting on the floor?"

"I didn't want to get blood on the couch." Sam looked up; Dean looked worried.

Then Dean reached down and pulled him up, "Come on, we're going to the doc's."

Sam leaned on his brother as they walked out the door. Suddenly Sam stopped. "Wait. I need pants."

Dean prodded him along, "You're covered in blood. I think people will understand."

Sam nodded, not having the energy to argue. When they got to the car, Dean sat to the left of Sam, sharing the back seat. As the car was stared, Dean began giving Miranda directions to the doctor's office.

Knowing that Dean would take care of everything, Sam found himself giving into his exhaustion. He closed his eyes, leaning on his brother. Not three seconds later he felt a shake, "Open your eyes Sammy."

Sam did as he was told, but continued to lean, "I'm tired Dean."

Sam felt his brother lean over him, once again checking the gash. Then Sam cried out in pain. Dean had wrapped his right hand around the gash, squeezing it incredibly hard. Feebly, Sam tried to push Dean's hand off. When Sam had squeezed his side himself, it hadn't hurt nearly that much. "Stop Dean, it hurts."

Dean spoke over Sam's head, "I'm sorry. I'm trying to stop the bleeding."

Sam gasped at the pain finding it hard to breath. He couldn't believe how strong Dean was. "Dean? Are you mad at me?"

Dean shook his head, "We'll talk about it later Sammy. Make a left up at the light."

Sam tried again, once more closing his eyes, "It was an accident."

"I said we'll talk about it later." Sam cringed, Dean sounded annoyed. With his eyes closed and his brother's arm surrounding him, Sam began to drift into sleep almost immediately. Gradually he leaned into Dean more, slowly sliding down his chest.

Dean's left hand pushed him up roughly, "Sammy open your eyes."

Sam jumped back to full awareness, but couldn't seem to open his eyes. It just felt good to keep them closed. Suddenly he felt Dean shaking him, "Sammy!" Dean's voice had gotten considerably louder and he sounded almost panicked. "Shit! Miranda, forget the doc's. We gotta get to the hospital. Now."

Sam assumed that Miranda nodded and began driving towards the hospital because he didn't seem to hear her make a comment. Then, once again, Sam found himself being shook.

"Sammy. Open your eyes."

Sam tried, but couldn't seem to do it. Then something flicked his face. Sam pulled away, but it happened again. Sam opened his eyes and found a very worried looking Dean staring at him. "Stay awake Sammy."

Sam nodded not really understanding why he had to be awake. He had already told Dean everything and Dean would take it from here. Sam couldn't figure out what there was left for him to do. His eyes began to shut again.

Immediately, he was shaken and Dean yelled, "Sammy! Stay awake!"

Sam reopened his eyes, considerably more awake having been frightened by Dean's yelling. Apparently, Dean was even more angry with him than he had originally thought. "Dean?" Sam spoke into his brother's chest. "How come you don't like me anymore?"

Sam felt Dean push him back until Sam could see his face. Dean looked appalled by the question. "What?"

Sam repeated it, looking a little sad, "How come you don't like me anymore?"

Dean shook his head, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Sam's eyes became teary, "You never want to play with me anymore. I never get to see you."

Dean looked upset, "I've just been busy Sammy."

Sam shook his head, "You said you won't play with me ever again."

Dean started, "When did I ever say that?"

"Before. When you told me to leave you alone. You said that you don't play with ten-year-olds."

Dean pulled Sam closer with his right arm, "I _don't_ play with ten-year-olds; you're eleven Sammy."

Sam didn't understand the comment, Dean had been talking about him before when he said that he didn't play with ten-year-olds and it seemed that Dean had been distancing himself from Sam a lot lately. "Did I do something wrong?"

Dean turned away from Sam whispering, "Sammy, stop it."

Already worn out from the day's events and taking Dean's body language as a sign of rejection, Sam began to cry. Immediately Dean turned back towards him, "Son of a…why are you crying?"

Lost in his tears, Sam didn't answer. Dean's tone grew softer, "Sammy, why are you crying?"

Sam's answer was interrupted with sobbing gasps, "You don't like me."

Dean sighed and turned Sam's face towards his own. Dean spoke to his brother seriously, "I don't not like you Sammy. I probably like you more than I like anyone in this world, not counting dad."

Sam's tears stopped as he looked at his brother in surprise. He looked towards the front of the car before whispering to Dean, "Even more than Miranda."

Dean smiled and pulled him close. He whispered back, "Even more than Miranda."

Sam smiled. "Do you like me more than that guy Tom you've been hanging out with?"

Dean gave a laugh, "I like you _way_ more than Tom."

With the conversation having sapped his remaining strength, Sam leaned on his brother, once more closing his eyes.

Yet again Dean shook him, "Sammy. Don't close your eyes." Sam's strength seemed to be gone. His eyes remained closed and he continued to lean his full weight on his brother.

Sam felt Dean push him up with his left hand. "Sammy _please_…don't close your eyes."

Sam started and lifted his eyes to half-mast. Dean had just issued a plea. Sam had never heard Dean sound scared…until just now. It was terrifying. Sam looked up at his brother and his eyes found the strength to open all the way- in shock. Dean had tears in his eyes.

Dean spoke to him quietly, "Please Sammy. We're almost there. Stay awake."

Sam didn't understand the sudden change in his brother's mood. Why had Dean gone from pissed to scared? "Dean? Are you still mad at me?"

Dean looked down at him, "I'll make a deal with you. You keep your eyes open and stay awake and I'll forget all about you going into my room and touching my stuff ok."

Sam smiled, "Really?"

Scarily, Dean seemed to frown more at Sam's smile. Sam couldn't understand it. Dean pulled him closer. "Really Sammy. Just stay awake for me."

Sam felt the car come to a stop and then heard his brother yell again, "Go through it. Miranda, we don't have time. Go through the light!"

The car lurched forward and Sam could hear Miranda crying from the driver's seat. Apparently Miranda didn't like get yelled at either. Sam spoke again, "Dean?" Dean looked down at him, "You think dad'll kill me?"

Dean laughed, "Unlikely. I don't think dad would commit _two _murders over this."

Sam was confused. Dean wasn't making a whole lot of sense today. "Who else is he gonna kill?" Dean didn't answer.

Finally, the car pulled up to the emergency room. The towel that had been around Sam's waist was now soaked in blood, along with Dean's hand, which still had not released its death grip. Dean pulled Sam out of the car, while Miranda ran into the ER, presumably to get help.

As Sam exited the car, he felt his knees buckle beneath him. Dean caught him and Sam fought to keep his vision from going black. He could hear Dean talking to him, but was unable to understand the words. Sam fought to stay awake. He had made a deal with Dean. He had to stay awake so that Dean wouldn't be mad at him anymore. But try as he might, the light had disappeared from his vision and gradually, the sound, the touch, and the thought followed.

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Sam awoke with a bad headache and a mouth that felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. Squinting at his headache, he looked around. He was in a hospital bed- or at least it looked like he was. Looking over at his left, Sam noticed a curtained area, with people behind it. Apparently, he was in the hospital and sharing a room.

The headache receded slightly and Sam took in more of his surroundings. His bloody underwear was gone and in its place was a blue hospital gown. Sam felt over to the gash with his left hand. His entire abdomen was covered in a bandage. As for the gash, there was a dull ache, but the pain was nothing compared to the one in his head. His right arm laid on the fuzzy blue blanket and inserted into the arm was an IV, attached to a bag full of red fluid, presumably blood.

Sam looked around again. He was thirsty, his head hurt, his throat hurt, and more importantly, he was alone. Well, there were the people on the other side of the curtain, but they didn't count. Where was his brother? The events of the day flashed through his mind and Sam briefly panicked that Dean had left. After all, Sam had broken his promise and fallen asleep, which meant that Dean was again mad. Was that why his brother wasn't here?

Sam's eyes filled with tears at the thought just as his brain informed him that of all the stupid things he had thought that day- Dean abandoning him was by far the most ridiculous. Dean would NEVER do that- no matter what Sam did…would he? Uncomfortable with his panic, Sam searched frantically for a call button. When he had visited his father in the hospital after a hunt gone wrong, his father had explained the call button. He had even let Sam try it. Unfortunately, in his own hospital room, Sam couldn't find the call button.

Needing to not be alone, and not knowing what to do, Sam yelled his brother's name. Nothing came out. Sam swallowed, shutting his eyes against the stickiness of his throat, and yelled again. This time the yell came out as a forced whisper. Panic began to take over. He wanted his family now. Not later, not in a few minutes, right NOW! His headache increased and hot tears began to roll down his cheeks. As he cried, the sobs became louder and louder, eventually making enough noise for somebody to hear.

The curtain in the middle of the room moved and an older woman popped her head around it. She took in Sam's crying face, "Oh. Did you need help sweetie?"

Sam nodded and the woman nodded in return, "I'll get a nurse." And then she left.

Sam would have preferred Dean or his father, but a nurse would at least be able to get those people for him. Not wanting Dean or his dad to know he cried, Sam wiped the tears from his face. Just as he finished, a nurse walked in. She was young with long light brown hair, and a beautiful face. Sam couldn't help but smile, Dean would be well pleased when he saw her. She spoke to Sam in a sweet tone, "Hi. You're Sammy right? How do you feel Sammy?"

Sam ignored the question and got straight to the point, "Where's my brother?"

It came out scratched and whispered, but the nurse heard it. She smiled and held out a cup of water with a straw, "Here. I'll hold this and you drink slowly."

Sam did as he was told, somewhat amazed that he was able to drink while lying flat on his back. His father had always told him, 'sit up or you'll choke'…apparently not. When he had finished, the nurse put down the cup and addressed his question, "Your brother's at the nurse's station talking to your father on the phone. I'll let him know that you want to see him." Then she leaned towards Sam and whispered, "You know, they usually don't let minors in to visit unless they're with an adult, but your brother somehow convinced them he should stay."

Sam felt like he should have smiled, but he just didn't have it in him. He was too worried about what their father was saying on the phone…and whether Dean was still mad at him. Not receiving a response, the nurse left. Not even a minute later, Dean walked in. Sam held out his left hand praying that Dean still liked him enough to touch it.

Dean didn't miss a beat. He grabbed the hand as he walked right up to the edge of the bed. Then he pulled over a chair and sat. "You look like shit."

Sam smiled slightly as he felt his eyes tear up, "I'm sorry I broke our deal." It was a way of asking if Dean was still mad and Sam bit his lip waiting for the response.

Dean's face fell at the words. He squeezed Sam's hand and touched the side of his brother's head, "You couldn't control that Sammy. You lost too much blood."

Sam shook his head, "But I broke the deal. You can still be mad at me."

Dean rubbed the top of Sam's hand with his thumb, "I don't want to be mad at you. You did good. You stayed awake until we reached the hospital…that was our deal."

Sam thought back. Was it? He couldn't remember the details of the deal, but if Dean said that that was the deal, then that was the deal.

"You scared the shit out of me Sammy." Sam turned to his brother in surprise and Dean continued, "I mean you REALLY scared me."

Sam just stared in shock- he had no idea what to say. Dean just kept talking, "And I'm sorry Sammy."

Confusion broke through the shock and Sam found his ability to speak. "For what?"

Dean bit his lip and looked down. When he looked back up, Sam could see that he was crying. "You called me…from upstairs. You said you needed help and I…" Dean shook his head as he tried to not lose his composure. "…I didn't…"

Sam was stunned. Dean was scared. Dean was crying. Dean was apologizing…to him. The situation was frightening. Dean didn't get scared. Dean didn't cry. Dean didn't make mistakes. And yet there he was, admitting to being scared, crying, and apologizing. Once again, Sam had no idea what to say, but clearly he had to say something.

Sam pulled his hand from his brother's grasp and touched his Dean's shoulder. Dean looked up. "It's ok Dean."

Dean smiled lightly and shook his head. "It won't happen again Sammy. From now on, whenever you need me…I'll be there. I promise you."

Sam nodded. He never doubted that Dean wouldn't be there. And he didn't consider Dean to have not been there when he stabbed himself either. Dean was the one who got him to the hospital. Dean took care of it. Sam still didn't know why Dean was upset or apologizing. But then, sometimes, Dean just didn't make much sense.

Uncomfortable with his brother's lack of perfection, Sam changed the subject. "Is dad really mad?"

Dean laughed and wiped his eyes. Then he shook his head in disbelief, "You know what the word irate means?"

Sam shook his head. Dean nodded, "You will."

Sam chewed on his lip, "Is it bad?"

Dean laughed again, "Uh…well. Let's put it this way. He was about a day away from killing the Cyclops and finishing the hunt that he began three weeks ago with research. And now, instead of finishing it, he's coming here."

Sam paled and shrunk into the bed. He was so dead. Suddenly, it became hard to breathe. Sam gasped for air. Dean stood up, leaned over him, and picked up his hand. "Relax Sammy, it won't be that bad. Dad's not gonna kill you."

Sam turned to his brother with a look of 'are you kidding me' written all over his face. Seriously, was Dean kidding? He had gone into his brother's room, _played _ with a dagger, and caused his father to leave a hunt while in the middle of it. This had to be the WORST situation he had ever caused in his life.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed. "I think dad got most of his yelling out on the phone. Right now he's probably more worried than pissed."

Once again Sam looked at Dean in incredulously. He found it VERY hard to believe that their father wasn't pissed. Unless… "You told him about the dagger?"

Dean nodded, "He asked what did it. I had to tell him. Plus he's already been to the house. HE said the whole bathroom's covered in blood."

Sam shook his head, "You shouldn't have brought me to the hospital. You could have stitched me and then dad wouldn't have found out."

Dean got off the bed and sat back in the chair. He looked at Sam with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance, "Do you have any concept of how bad this was?"

Sam stared. It was bad? Then he became confused; what was bad? The situation or his injury?

"Sammy. Do you realize that the whole thing happened yesterday?"

Sam's eyes widened in shock. It had happened yesterday? It was tomorrow? What the hell had happened between then and now?

Dean picked up Sam's hand again, "No doubt about it- you've got a lecture coming…and I think some kind of punishment, but believe me…dad's more worried than anything right now."

Sam used his right hand to play with the blanket. He was feeling tired again, but he was too worried about his father's arrival to sleep. He wondered if Dean had gotten in trouble, but he was afraid to ask. He felt horrible already for deciding to play with the dagger. It wasn't fair if Dean got in trouble too; Dean hadn't done anything. But Sam knew how his father operated, if something happened to Sam- Dean was blamed. Sam heard his father's voice in his head, 'Dean. Sam's your responsibility.' Sam grew sad. He didn't want to be Dean's responsibility. He wanted to be Dean's brother- and friend. He found himself growing a little angry at his father for always blaming Dean for _his _mistakes, but then he realized that he didn't actually know if that had happened this time. He looked at his brother, "Dean?"

Dean leaned forward and Sam asked his question, "Is dad mad at you 'cause of what I did?"

At first Dean said nothing, and his expression remained blank. Then, slowly, he began rubbing Sam's hand. "Dad's mad at me, but because of what I didn't do, not what you did do."

Sam was confused, "Huh?"

"Don't worry about me Sammy, I didn't get nailed as badly as I thought I would…And stop worrying about dad. He's not gonna kill you."

Sam mulled over the new information that his brother had given him. "How come you didn't try to stitch me. You just brought me here. You didn't even try to keep dad from finding out."

Dean sat back. "Worst case scenario."

Yet again, Sam found himself confused by his brother's response. Dean really wasn't making sense lately.

Dean tried to explain, "You have to look at the worst case scenario. We go to the hospital…worst case scenario: dad finds out and is pissed. I try to stitch you myself…worst case scenario: you die. You've gotta look at the worst case scenario and then pick the better solution."

Sam considered this. Taking that form of logic went against every decision he had made the night before. Sam thought about what logic he had been operating under. Then he presented it to his brother. "What about best case?"

Now it was Dean's turn to be confused. "What?"

Sam smiled, it was rare for him to confuse his brother. "What about the best case scenario? We go to the hospital…best case scenario: I'm ok, we didn't really need to be here, and dad's pissed. You stitch me up…best case scenario: I'm fine, dad never finds out, and we all live happily ever after."

Dean smiled at his brother's logic. Then he shook his head. "You're a bigger gambler than me."

The confusion passed back to Sam. He stared at Dean waiting for an explanation.

Dean nodded and leaned forward as he explained, "When you gamble- you weigh the risk versus the reward. You weigh the worst case scenario against the best case to try to see if the best case scenario is worth risking the worst case for…Sorry Sammy, but for me, in this case, it wasn't. It wasn't worth risking your life to keep dad from being mad. You being alive is far more important than whether or not someone gets angry."

Sam turned towards the ceiling. A thought appeared in his head: Dean was a genius, and he was not. He hadn't thought any of that through yesterday when he had tried to cover up what he had done. His only concern was not getting in trouble. But Dean _had _ thought it all through and he made the correct decision right away. Sam looked back at his brother in admiration. Dean really knew what he was doing…and Sam hoped that he would be able to learn from the mistakes he had made over the past few days and someday be as wise as his brother.

Overcome by fatigue, Sam continued to mull over his thoughts as he fell asleep.

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Sam awoke to the sounds of voices near his bed. He kept his eyes closed as he tried to determine who was there. As he listened, he noticed a rough hand rubbing his shoulder and then the smell of pine and sweat. His father was there. Sam's eyes remained closed as he gathered the strength to face his father's wrath. He took a deep breath...there was no point in putting it off further. With great trepidation, Sam cautiously opened his eyes.

His father hadn't noticed as he was talking across the bed to Dean. Based on his father's look…and smell…his dad hadn't taken the time to clean up since coming back from hunting.

"Dad, he's awake."

Sam watched his father look down at him and smile. _Smile_? "Hey Sammy. How you feeling kiddo?"

Sam stared skeptically wondering if his father had been possessed. His dad was smiling and talking to him in a soft spoken tone? The oddity and unexpectedness of it freaked Sam out.

Dean laughed and addressed their father, "Sammy was worried that you were going to kill him."

Their father grew serious. "I still might. Is it true that you snuck into your brother's room and played with his dagger?"

Sam nodded, shrinking into the bed, "Yes sir."

His father nodded back, "And what have I said to you about touching weapons?"

Sam's voice was no louder than a peep, "You said not to?"

"And is a dagger a weapon?"

Again Sam nodded, "Yes sir."

Sam pushed all the way back into the bed in fear as he watched his father bend down towards him. This was it. This was the moment when his father would kill him. However, it seemed his father had other plans. Rather than killing him, Sam felt his father kiss him on the head and smooth out his hair. Sam was terrified. His father really was possessed. "Are you possessed?"

Immediately his dad stepped back and laughed. Then, still laughing, he shook his head, "First of all Sammy, if you ever really want to know if someone's possessed you say the name of God in front of them. You don't ask them. Second, no. I'm not possessed. I'm just glad you're ok."

Sam considered this… "What's the name of God?"

His father and Dean answered at the same time, "Christo."

Sam bit his lip, then, "Christo."

His father laughed again. "Did my eyes turn black?"

Sam shook his head. His dad nodded, "Then I'm not possessed."

Sam smiled, relieved. "How come you didn't kill me?"

Sam watched his father pull up a chair, and pick up his right hand, mindful of the IV. "I make it a point not to _kill_ my children while they're in the hospital." Sam made a face at his father's half humor. His dad continued, "You can expect you and I are going to have a LONG talk when you're feeling better. And you've got a large punishment ahead of you. You left quite a mess in the bathroom and the hallway and the stairs. It's not going to be easy for you and Dean to clean it all."

Sam cringed, "Sorry about the blood."

His father put a hand on his head, using his thumb to smooth out the hair. "You did a great job of cleaning the dagger and covering up all the evidence." Sam looked at his father in surprise. If he had done such a great job, then how had his father found out? But then, his dad was all knowing. Sam sighed, even if they hadn't gone to the hospital, his dad probably would have found out. Dean had been right- it wasn't worth the risk.

"Next time you get hurt Sammy…you get help. Right away. You don't wait until you've lost more than half your blood. And you face up to what you've done. You understand?"

Sam nodded, "Yes sir." He did understand.

Then his father sat back. "So Dean tells me you were fighting a shape shifter."

Sam agreed, "Yeah. I tried to kick it and do a roundhouse, but I don't really know how and then Dean's room is really messy and I tripped on his shirt."

Dean spoke up, "My Zepplin shirt? There better not be any blood on it."

Their dad smiled, "There's not a drop in your room Dean. Oh. And whatever that smell is in there…it better be gone by tomorrow morning and I mean gone."

Dean looked down, "Yes sir."

Sam snickered. Sometimes it was fun to see Dean get into trouble. Turning serious, Sam looked at his father, "I'm sorry I ruined your hunt."

His father nodded, "You're very lucky. Caleb was in the area and he'll finish it for me." Then he leaned forward, "If I couldn't finish it Sammy, a lot of people could've died."

Sam played with the blankets, full of remorse, "I know. I'm sorry."

His father ruffled his hair, "I know you are. It's the only reason I'm not screaming right now. I expect you learned from this."

Sam nodded, keeping his head down, "Yes sir."

"Dean?"

Dean also nodded, "Yes sir."

Their father sat back satisfied. Then Dean spoke again, "Hey dad?"

Their dad looked over and Dean continued, "You think I could train Sammy? You know, teach him how to do a real roundhouse and some other stuff?"

Both Sam and their father looked surprised. Then their dad spoke, "Your own training and the hunts- they come first. You'll have to take the time from your friends."

Dean agreed, "Well, I think Miranda's kind of done with me right now, although I do owe her a interior cleaning for her car."

Sam turned to his brother, "Was there a lot of blood in it?"

Dean made a face, "Yeah. I think I'm probably number one on her shit list at the moment. But either way. I don't mind finding the time. I kind of miss hanging out with Sammy. Besides, I can't have him trying to kick people and end up stabbing himself instead. It'd bring down the family name."

Sam's smile grew from ear to ear. Dean missed him! And…Dean was going to teach him stuff! Dean was choosing Sam over his friends, which meant that Dean had meant what he told Sam in the car. Sam leaned back into the bed, really happy. He looked over at Dean who smiled back. He had a severe 'talking to,' a large punishment, and a recovery in front of him, but Sam didn't care. Neither his father or his brother had killed him, and Dean was going to spend more time with him.

He felt a little guilty feeling so relieved and happy. After all, he had screwed up royally. He had almost killed himself, ruined his father's hunt, and scared the shit out of his brother. But, he truly was sorry and as he had told his father, he had learned from this. It WOULDN'T happen again. From now on- there'd be no more playing with sharp things.

* * *

_Ok- I have no more voter questions- but drop me a line anyway and let me know what you thought. Did I finish it ok? _


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